Fight Dirty (16 page)

CHAPTER 29

N
ic
k’s
jaw clenched, and he had to work hard to not allow his emotions to make it to his face. What kind of mother used her child to cover up her affair? Exiled her to protect her secret? Then abandoned her once again when she no longer needed her silence?

This was why he didn’t do family therapy. First responders and military personnel suffering from PTSD and the aftereffects of trauma, that he understood. That he could help heal.

This woman clearly had an Axis II diagnosis, probably borderline personality disorder. Creating a world, part fantasy, part reality, all revolving around her and her petty need for attention. And the husband? Nick hadn’t met him yet, but he sounded as if he had some pathology himself. Narcissist, maybe.

BreeAnna, poor kid, hadn’t stood a chance. Not with these two. And yet, she hadn’t ended her own life; he was certain of it. Someone else had.

As a therapist, he was good at closeting his emotions, focusing on the needs of his clients. But BreeAnna was his client, and she was dead. And right now he felt a surge of anger at that fact. He wanted her truth to be told, not the warped lies her parents would spin to fit their own needs.

He wanted justice. But what he had was this poor excuse of a mother before him. He glanced over to Andre who had turned to stare out the window, his body tension proclaiming his own disgust at Care
n’s
admission.

Caren huddled in the corner of the love seat, hands playing with the knot on her robe. “I know you think I’m awful,” she said. Nick remained silent, too upset to trust his voice. “But I didn’t just abandon my daughter in that place. I did try to visit her.”

That caught his attention. Why hadn’t she mentioned it before? Maybe sh
e’d
seen something that might lead to BreeAnn
a’s
killer. “You were there? At ReNew?”

She shook her head. “Not the treatment center. The church.”

“What happened?”

“The
y’d
said BreeAnna was able to have visitors after the first month. So I called and called, and that administrator, Mr. Chapman, kept putting me off. Finally I called Reverend Benjamin himself. He was so understanding. Explained that BreeAnna was having a difficult time adjusting to life without drugs or alcohol.”

No matter that BreeAnn
a’s
drug and alcohol use had been fabricated by Caren in the first place. But Nick remained silent, not challenging her delusions.

“He invited me for a special visit on a Sunday. We met at his office in the church where he was preparing his sermon. Such a charming man—and despite the fact that he has no children of his own, he truly understood how difficult raising a girl like BreeAnna could be. I can’t tell you how helpful it was, knowing that someone appreciated everything
I’d
gone through.”

Caren leaned back, waiting for Nick to say something sympathetic. When he didn’t, she continued, “I attended services at ReNew. Lovely place and the congregation is so supportive. The student leader, Deidre, came and gave testimony about how the treatment program had saved her. The Reverend gave a beautiful sermon about the power of forgiveness and how first we need to forgive ourselves. And then—”

To Nic
k’s
surprise, she broke off to fish a tissue from the pocket of her robe. She sniffed into it, blinking fast as if holding back tears.

The tears weren’t for BreeAnna. They were for Caren.

The chime of the doorbell sounded, carrying clearly through the closed doors to the suite. Andre met Nic
k’s
eyes. Guess that answered the question of whether Caren or Robert somehow hadn’t heard the doorbell ringing the night BreeAnna died.

A few minutes later there was a knock and Jenna entered. She took the chair beside Nick and gave Andre a quick nod.

“Caren was just walking us through the time she went to visit BreeAnna at ReNew,” Nick told her. “Reverend Benjamin invited her to a church service.”

“Good,” Jenna said. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

“And then,” Caren resumed her story, glancing from Jenna to Nick, obviously delighted to have all eyes on her, “he showed a video to the congregation. Deidre and my BreeAnna, singing together. ‘This Little Light of Mine.’ ” She cleared her throat. “It was so beautiful—I was overwhelmed. To see BreeAnna smile like that. Well, I knew she was in the right place.”

“Did you see her? Inside the treatment facility?” Jenna asked.

She shook her head. “No. After the service, I spoke with the Reverend—h
e’s
so easy to talk to. I felt I could tell him anything. Together we decided that we needed to give BreeAnna more time to adjust—although I told him, she was already so much better than what
I’d
seen from her at home. I
t’d
been weeks and weeks since
I’d
seen her smile, much less heard her sing.”

“Since the party?” Jenna leaned forward anxiously. Nick caught her eye, shook his head. Too many interruptions and Caren might withdraw, throw one of her fits before they got any answers. Jenna gave him a nod and relaxed back in her chair.

“Why does everyone keep bringing up that damn party? Kids are kids.” She seemed irritated that Jenna had deflected attention away from her spiritual awakening back to BreeAnna. “Anyway, the Reverend e-mailed me and Robert a video of BreeAnna singing and a note from her. It inspired me to tell Robert the truth about Tyler.”

“That must have been difficult,” Nick said.

She sat up straight, eyes wide, focusing on him. “Oh, it was. I was terrified. But BreeAnna and that student leader and the Reverend, they made me see that my secrets were destroying my marriage. And I was the only one who could heal it.”

“How did Robert take it?”

“Furious. Of course. Tha
t’s
why I told him over the phone while he was out of town. Then I made sure BreeAnna was home by the time he got home. So he could see how important keeping our family together was.” She sounded almost proud of herself, using BreeAnna as a hostage to her husban
d’s
affection.

Nick tried to push Care
n’s
focus back to BreeAnna. “Can we see that video? And the message the Reverend sent you?”

She thought about it for a moment, then stood, leading him to a small hutch in the corner. Andre remained at the window, but Jenna crowded in, peering over his shoulder. The hutch appeared to be a delicate antique, but when the doors opened the interior was set up as a modern computer desk. She hit a few keys, and the Reveren
d’s
e-mail appeared. Caren clicked on the video, filling the room with two girls’ voices, sweet and innocent.

BreeAnna played an upright piano, sunlight streaming in through windows behind her, as another girl, a blonde, stood beside her, swaying to the tune, her eyes closed as she sang.

“Wh
o’s
the other girl with BreeAnna?” Nick asked.

“Tha
t’s
Deidre. The ReNew student leader.”

BreeAnna must have known the song by heart because her gaze never left the second girl, Deidre. She seemed enraptured by the older girl, smiling not with the tune but rather in response to Deidr
e’s
expression.

It appeared as if, after being let down by the adults in her life, BreeAnna had finally found a hero.

And hero worship could be dangerous, Nick knew. Especially to someone as isolated as BreeAnna.

The song ended, and Caren clicked the video off. Nick read the message, supposedly from BreeAnna, that Reverend Benjamin had includ
ed in the body of the e-mail.

I’m so thankful for the guidance I’m receiving here at ReNew. I have so much to learn and have only just begun my journey.

I now understand the destructive power of the secrets I’ve been keeping. We must seek the light, shun the dark. So I must embrace the truth.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Caren gushed. “Embrace the truth. So simple, yet so wise. I a
lways knew BreeAnna had hidden depths—her music teachers were constantly telling us that she had more talent, if sh
e’d
only apply herself, break free of her insecurities.”

“Does that message sound like BreeAnna to you?” Nick asked. His own daughter was thirteen, just a year younger than BreeAnna, and sh
e’d
never write anything like this.

“Well, BreeAnna is mature for her age, you know. Gets that from me.”

Right. “And this message is what caused you to tell your husband about your affair?”

“It was pretty much over, anyway. But, yes, after getting this, I decided to tell Robert the truth. He needed to know how much pain I was in, that
I’d
resort to something like that. We needed to heal our marriage—and we couldn’t do that with secrets between us.”

Nick read the message once more. Noted that it was sent to two separate e-mails: Care
n’s
and Rober
t’s
. As if the sender wanted to make certain both parents saw it, without relying on Caren sharing it with Robert.

Which made Robert the true target. Because to Nick, the message didn’t read like a note from a fourteen-year-old girl. It read like a veiled threat of exposure.

Made him wonder what secrets Robert Greene was keeping. And how far h
e’d
go to keep them buried.

CHAPTER 30

B
enjamin and the guards escorted Morgan back to Director Chapma
n’s
office. They passed an empty classroom, desks filled with computer equipment, bright sunshine streaming in through a wall of windows, bouncing off whiteboards brimming with hope. Morgan had the suspicion that the room had never been used—except maybe for the occasional parents’ night. It had the air of a theatrical set piece rather than an actual place of learning.

Facades upon facades, that was ReNew. Glittery rhetoric, promises parents frustrated beyond belief were ready to believe—and pay for. All the parents wanted was guilt-free release from the burden their children represented. ReNew provided that, but Morgan sincerely doubted they did it via any kind of rehabilitation or reeducation, much less actual treatment.

Sh
e’d
assumed ReNew was like any other prison, basically a warehouse behind locked doors, troubled kids kept safely out of sight and out of mind. But after meeting the good Reverend Doctor, she realized she was wrong.

ReNew wasn’t about locking kids up. It was about breaking them down.

Given what Greene had implied about being blackmailed by Benjamin and Chapman, it made sense. Break a kid, get them to talk—even if they were simply saying what Benjamin wanted to hear—use that against both them and their parents.

No wonder no one had ever followed up on any complaints against ReNew. What kid would testify, knowing their most humiliating moments were on record, just waiting for the chance to expose their darkest secrets to the world?

The guards pivoted her and held her at attention in the doorway to Chapma
n’s
office. Benjamin strode behind Chapma
n’s
desk, dwarfing the director.

He shook his head in sympathy. “I’m so glad you brought Morgan to us, Mr. Renshaw. I’m afraid i
t’s
worse than you ever imagined. She disclosed to me drug use, stealing, even predatory sexual acts.”

Greene played his role, eyes going wide, lips pursed in shock as he looked from Benjamin to Chapman and finally over his shoulder to where Morgan stood suspended in place by the two guards who held her by the elbows.

“I never imagined—” He focused on Benjamin. “Can you help her? Can you bring me back my sweet little girl?”

Damn, he was good. Benjamin and Chapman ate it up, Chapman standing and meeting Benjami
n’s
gaze as if taking on a particularly difficult duty. Greene stood as well, and Benjamin came around from behind the desk to take his hand, clasping it with the earnest grip of someone swearing a blood oath.

“Of course, Mr. Renshaw. We’ll do everything in our power. I promise you that. Would you like to say good-bye to your daughter now so we can get started?”

Greene turned to Morgan, the width of the office still between them as the guards held her at the doorway. “I just hope—” He trailed off, shoulders trembling as if holding back tears. “Please, baby, try. Tha
t’s
all your mom and I ask. Try to get better. We’ll be here for you.”

Morgan figured this would be the time a normal girl would panic. She struggled in the guards’ arms, trying to break free and run to Greene. “No!” she cried. “Daddy! Don’t leave me! I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll do anything you want.”

Benjamin placed an arm around Green
e’s
shoulders and turned him away as the guards dragged Morgan down the hall and around the corner. She struggled and fought, forcing actual tears and blubbering, but it was all for naught. They tossed her through the door of the intake room and closed it behind her.

Leaving her alone in the dark. Morgan spun on her knees, the gym mats lining the floors rustling with her movement. She pounded on the door with one hand, wailing.

Finally after sh
e’d
slumped exhausted against the wall, the doors on the opposite side of the room banged open, spilling blinding light into the small, dark room. Morgan turned around, still on her knees. Several figures crowded through the doorway, fanning out on either side, leaving one standing alone in the center. A dark silhouette surrounded by a halo of light. A girl in a long, flowing dress.

Morgan blinked, playing her role despite the fact that every instinct in her told her to charge the girl—obviously the leader—and take her down, hard and fast and dirty.

Instead she knelt there, role-playing a quivering mass of uncertainty. Someone flicked the lights on, and she saw that these weren’t staff members, despite their red shirts with the ReNew sunrise embroidered over their hearts. These were all kids. Kids drunk with power from the way they bounced on their heels, anxious for action.

Five boys, aged fifteen to eighteen, she guessed. Two girls, maybe sixteen or seventeen. And the leader in the center: a girl, long blonde hair cascading down past her shoulders in contrast to the other girls who had short, raggedy haircuts. She was like Morgan—could have passed for anywhere from fourteen to midtwenties with her beatific smile and placid, imperturbable expression. She stared at Morgan with dull blue eyes—the only part of her that seemed lifeless.

Morgan studied her from beneath heavy lids, her face shielded by her own long hair. She could have been looking into a mirror. Not their physical features, she had nothing in common with this blonde beauty. No, it was what lay beneath the mask. Sh
e’d
met the wolf—but Morga
n’s
job was to play a sheep, hide her own true nature.

The leader gave some unseen signal and a boy and girl, both tall and muscular, bigger than Morgan, approached from either side. Morgan huddled back against the door.

“Welcome to ReNew,” the leader said, her voice a cheerful singsong. “I’m Deidre, the student leader. You’re only at Step Zero, not even a Level One, so you will not look at me or address anyone unless you are addressed. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will do exactly as any Level Seven or above—the ones in the red shirts—tells you, without question. Do you understand?”

Morgan nodded, more of her dark curls falling in front of her face. Deidre arched an eyebrow, and the girl on Morga
n’s
right side grabbed a fistful of Morga
n’s
hair, yanking so hard that Morga
n’s
head hit the door behind her.

“You will speak when spoken to,” Deidre repeated, the spark in her voice honed by impatience. “I can’t hear a nod. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” The syllable tore past Morga
n’s
lips with a shudder that shook her body.

“Very well. Stand and take off your clothes.”

Morgan must have hesitated a moment too long because before she could move, the girl hauled her to her feet by her hair and the boy was tearing off her jacket, hurling it to the floor. As soon as he had it clear, the girl had Morga
n’s
tee off, and within moments she stood in her underwear, all eyes on her.

“All of it,” Deidre snapped.

The boy and girl stepped back, giving Morgan time to finish stripping. She knew what they were doing: first, taking control, then coercing her into cooperating in her own humiliation. Effective combination—she wondered if they were self-taught. Leave it to adolescents to figure out how to best torture their peers.

As she removed her bra and panties, she couldn’t help but think that her father would have approved of Deidre—and would have been disgusted by Morgan playing the sheep.

Sh
e’d
come here thinking the adults were the problem, that she could record enough abuses to shut down ReNew for good, free the kids, and find some justice for Bree. But now she doubted it would be that simple.

“Squat,” Deidre ordered. The girl pushed Morgan down while the boy donned vinyl gloves and spread her butt cheeks apart. “Cough. Harder.”

“Sh
e’s
clean,” the boy said, his hands and fingers probing Morgan longer than necessary.

The girl released Morgan and grabbed a stack of khaki-colored clothing from a random cubbyhole. There were flip-flops, plain white cotton underwear and a sports bra, a pair of pants with an elastic waist, and a top like the scrubs nurses and surgeons wore. All hopelessly too big.

“Get dressed. Faster!” They all laughed when Morgan, in her rush, got her foot caught in the too-long pants leg and fell face-first onto the mat.

The boy and girl roughly finished dressing her, then the boy hauled her to her feet by wrapping the waistband of her pants into a fist planted at the small of her back—creating a combination of a superwedgie and a painful punch to the spine that made her gasp.

Another laugh as he pulled her up to her tiptoes, inches of the pants legs extending past her bare feet protected only by the flip-flops, her groin burning with the pressure of her weight suspended on the crotch seam of the pants. She flailed, totally off balance, trying to relieve the pain, but he propelled her forward, not giving her a chance. Her feet pedaled, like a cartoon characte
r’s
searching for firm ground after running off a cliff.

Her fathe
r’s
laughter rang through her mind as she realized she was as helpless in the bo
y’s
grasp as any of her fathe
r’s
victims had been in his. Deidre leaned forward. The two guards lifted Morgan higher so that Morga
n’s
face was opposite Deidr
e’s
despite Morga
n’s
shorter stature.

“I met your parents this morning,” Deidre said. Morgan forced herself not to look her in the eyes. “They said you were rotten. No good. Out of control.”

She shoved her palm into Morga
n’s
breastbone, hard enough to make Morgan gasp as the breath rushed out of her body. Pinioned by the guards hoisting her by her elbows and the balled-up waistband of her pants, she had no choice but to absorb the energy of the blow rather than deflect it.

“Funny. Looks to me like we’re the ones in control.” Deidre clapped her palm against Morga
n’s
cheekbone. “Remember that and you’ll do fine.”

Morga
n’s
blood burned ice-cold. But she wasn’t here to kill. She was here to observe. Which meant either bowing to the will of the bully in charge—Deidre—or giving the bully a reason to do what they really wanted: to prove themselves the most powerful.
King of the hill
, her dad called it.

Either way, Morgan would be the one paying the price. She calculated the odds, gauged the guards—of the seven, two didn’t seem cowed at all by Deidre. Was the student leader embroiled in a power struggle? If so, then a show of dominance might help both Deidre and Morgan get what they wanted.

Morgan tilted her chin up, pursed her lips, and spat a wad of mucus into Deidr
e’s
face.

Deidre gasped and jumped back. Both of the guards that Morgan had pegged as possible trouble laughed, proving her right. As did the two guards holding her. She didn’t get a chance to notice much more, not after Deidre stepped forward and slapped her so hard her jaw threatened to slip out of joint and her glasses went crooked on her nose.

“Bring her,” Deidre ordered, glaring at the two guards who had dared laugh. “I believe a lesson in humility is in order.”

The guards hauled her across the threshold, leaving the intake room. Morgan didn’t need to fake her cringe when the heavy metal door slammed shut behind her.

They entered a large room. No windows, cinder-block walls. In a real school it would have been the gymnasium or cafeteria. Plastic tables lined the back wall, surrounded by chairs made of the same lightweight material. In front of them five rows of kids dressed in khaki knelt on the linoleum, facing Morgan. Their silence was as painful as the look of abject dejection in their eyes. Not one of them with a spark of defiance—in fact, the youngest, a boy who couldn’t be more than twelve and who knelt all alone in the front row except for the Red Shirt standing behind him, hands on the bo
y’s
shoulders pinning him down, was crying.

“This is our new Step Zero,” Deidre announced, not bothering with Morga
n’s
name. As if she no longer had one—or an identity to go with it. “She already has two demerits, one for lying and one for disrespecting the good Reverend Doctor. What does she need?”

“ReNew,” a ragged murmur came from the kneeling kids. Their voices were soft, all emotion exhausted.

“I can’t hear you!” Deidre screamed like a cheerleader in the fourth quarter of the big game.

“ReNew, ReNew, ReNew!” The Red Shirts, except the two flanking Morgan, still dangling from the wedgie to end all wedgies, spread around the room, hands pumping up and down, encouraging the kneeling kids into a chant that gained in volume and enthusiasm.

“And what path leads to ReNewal?” Deidre shouted. “Shall we purge her of sin?”

There was a sudden silence followed by a gasp. Several of the students glanced at each other in confusion until the Red Shirts began chanting, “Purge! Purge! Purge!”

Soon they were all screaming the word, waving their arms, their bodies gyrating, feet knocking against the floor. But despite the movement every eye remained locked on Deidre. More than looking for guidance. Desperate to obey.

Deidre waited, gauging the crowd. She raised one hand and silence immediately reigned—except for the young bo
y’s
sobbing.

“Micah Chase!” she called the name like a queen calling for an executioner. “You have been given a reprieve. To complete your penance you will instruct and supervise the new Step Zero as she purges herself of her sins.”

The crowd turned as one to stare into the corner behind Morgan. Her guard steered her that way as well. There, face to the corner, knelt a tall boy, hands behind his head, elbows out, spine held rigid by a broomstick shoved down the back of his shirt.

One of the Red Shirts leapt forward, pulling the stick out. The boy slumped but quickly righted himself before falling. Morgan sensed it was a matter of pride, but from the sweat stains on his shirt, she also had a feeling that h
e’d
been kneeling in that corner, frozen in place, for quite a long time.